Chapter 1: The Chen Family Descendant

“I want—”

“I want it—”

“Give me—”

“Give it to me—”

If a woman’s voice like this appeared in a single man’s bedroom, wouldn’t it stir the imagination? Wouldn’t your mind already be filling in all kinds of pixelated scenarios?

Yes, that voice had me all worked up.

At this moment, I was so terrified by those repeated, breathy cries that I cowered beneath my blanket, shivering and drenched in cold sweat, which had nearly soaked my bedding.

I clutched the Judge’s Brush tightly. Because of the surrounding ghostly energy, the brush in its jade box let out one low hum after another.

“No, I can’t make a move yet. Just endure… endure a while longer…” Deep down, I sensed that tonight might well be the end of me.

I didn’t need to look to know that outside, layer upon layer of ghostly figures must have gathered—clawing, glaring, desperate to squeeze into my room.

“Damn it, two years—two whole years. I’ve held out for two years, and if I die now, wouldn’t that be a huge loss?”

Frightened beyond reason, I didn’t even dare poke my head out from under the covers. Indeed, there was no erotic scene here—only me, scared out of my wits.

Honestly, the whole thing is humiliating to explain.

My name is Lin Xu. I’m twenty-five, the seventh-generation talisman master of the Qingxiao Sect. Sounds pretty impressive, right? But for the past two years, I’ve been bullied nonstop by a hundred ghosts. I don’t even dare step outside my own front door.

All because of a mistake my father made two years ago in his line of work. He and my mother ended up losing their lives, and they left me saddled with a massive yin debt. My luck and fortune were slashed right to the brink of death.

Being unlucky is one thing, but here’s the problem: since our Lin family doesn’t practice Daoist arts, we can’t judge karma. That means we can’t determine which ghost should be guided toward rebirth or which should be destroyed.

If by some miracle we guessed correctly, fine. But if we guessed wrong, we’d be committing a sin, which would reduce my already depleted luck even further. And once my luck hits zero, I’d be finished, no matter where I tried to hide.

That’s not even the worst part. These wandering ghosts feel a natural affinity for the Lin family bloodline, so they show up constantly, clamoring for our talismanic blessings. Every day, their numbers grow.

Given my current luck, if I intervene, I’m guaranteed to make the wrong call, which means I’d shoulder more yin debt. And even just a bit more of it would guarantee my death—even if I locked myself inside a bank vault.

So I can’t make a move. Because I absolutely cannot die.

However, my father once said that the Qingxiao Sect originally had more than just our family. There was another family named Chen, old friends of the Lin family, who specialized in Daoist arts. They could read karma and distinguish who needs saving and who should be wiped out. Unfortunately, during the war against the invaders, we lost all contact with them.

Then came those ten years of upheaval. Everyone was adrift, fleeing in all directions, and there was no internet like there is now. Traces of the Chen family disappeared entirely.

Father always said that if the Chen family were around, my predicament would be solved in no time.

Over the past two years, I’ve tried discreetly asking around online, but found nothing.

To be honest, I wasn’t banking on the Chen family anyway.

Even though Father wouldn’t lie, by now it’s been three generations since we lost contact. Who knows if the Chen family even still exists, or if they passed down their Daoist arts? Would they remember the old bond our ancestors had with us?

So in the end, it’s up to me to figure this out.

If I really have no way out, I might just fight these ghosts head-on. Worst case, I’ll end up in the underworld, where I can complain to King Yan directly—damn it, what are the ghost officers even doing, letting so many wandering spirits run amok in the mortal realm?

While I was lost in these thoughts, someone suddenly pushed the door to my shopfront.

That single sound, for my nerves—already stretched to the breaking point—was like a thunderclap.

I jolted hard. “What the hell, can ghosts actually push doors now?”

The door was locked from inside, and I’d pasted a talisman on it, so whoever pushed couldn’t get in. Then everything went quiet.

Hearing no further movement, I slowly let out the breath I’d been holding.

Before long, I heard a faint rustling by my ear—like something trying to crawl under my blanket.

A sudden chill seized me, and my body jerked in fright. I shot upright from the bed.

In front of me was a paper effigy—an outline cut from a sheet of white paper—just clambering onto my bed.

Yes, that’s right: a small human-shaped figure cut from paper.

It was still halfway under the covers, head burrowed forward, backside in the air, trying to wedge itself in.

“A paper figurine? Must be someone from the Daoist world,” I muttered, relieved that it wasn’t a ghost.

Seeing me sit up, the paper effigy rose and floated in front of me. Putting its little hands on its hips, it spoke in a shrill voice, “Seriously? A descendant of the Lin family, and you’re cowering like a total wimp.”

I frowned. How does it know who I am?

“They see him!!!”

“They see him!!!!!”

“Give him to me!!!”

“Kill him!!!”

The moment I appeared, the previously dazed ghosts outside the windows went wild, like bulls in heat, throwing themselves against the walls to get in.

I turned to look at the window. Countless faces were packed against it, every single one of them glaring at me with crimson eyes, like starving wolves eyeing a piece of meat.

Within moments, more and more heads forced their way in, so many that they distorted one another’s faces as they pressed together. It was nauseating to watch.

Soon it wasn’t just the windows. Faces began bulging through the walls on all sides—snarling, hideous, jammed together like sardines in a can.

All of them turned toward me, writhing in unison. The sheer density of them triggered my trypophobia, if such a thing even exists for ghostly heads.

Screams, curses, pleas for help—they all crashed against my eardrums, leaving my head pounding. I rubbed my temples in frustration.

Ghostly cries resonate in the soul; covering your physical ears does nothing to block them out.

Before long, they pushed their heads through. Blood-matted hair clung to rotting faces, twisted necks craned forward, and they shrieked at me like maniacs, “Give it to me—give it to me now—”

But after reaching a certain point, they all slammed into an invisible barrier. No matter how hard they struggled, they couldn’t move another inch closer.

From within that barrier, I lit a cigarette and glanced at the faded talisman stuck to the wall. I sighed softly.

The paper effigy gave the room a quick once-over and then looked at me. “Quite a spectacle you’ve got here. The Lin family descendant, bullied by a bunch of wandering ghosts—now that’s a rare sight.”

Its mocking tone grated on my nerves. I took a long drag of my cigarette and said, “If you’re here to help, then help. If you came just to laugh, then get lost.”

“Heh, got a temper on you. I can’t do anything from outside your barrier. Let me in, and maybe I’ll do something.” The paper effigy kept its hands on its hips.

It had a point. I hurriedly changed into clean clothes and headed downstairs to open the door.